Chapter 3 - The Ghost Protocol
Hook: The kid thought he was a criminal mastermind because he learned to hack my security. Tonight, I’m showing him how we handled business before computers were invented.
The rain had slowed to a miserable drizzle by the time Vincent and Elena reached the commercial shipping yards. The area was heavily guarded by men wearing tactical gear—not the usual street thugs Vincent employed, but high-end foreign mercenaries hired by Marcus.
"They're professional," Elena whispered from behind a stack of rusted shipping containers. "Ex-military. They operate on strict patrol routes."
"Then we don't fight them like soldiers," Vincent whispered back. "We fight them like monsters."
Vincent grabbed a heavy iron pipe from the ground. Despite his age, his frame was massive, hardened by decades of physical violence. He moved with surprising stealth, slipping around the rear of a security guard who was smoking a cigarette. Before the man could react, Vincent wrapped his arm around the guard's throat, choking out his screams until the man went limp.
Vincent stripped the guard of his radio, earpiece, and automatic rifle, tossing the weapon to Elena.
Using the stolen radio, Elena listened to the encrypted chatter. "They know someone is on the perimeter. They're tightening the circle around the central office."
"Good," Vincent said. "That means the money is exactly where I think it is."
They breached the central office through a second-story window. Inside, the walls were lined with surveillance monitors showing the entire shipyard. On the main desk sat a heavy, military-grade lockbox containing the bearer bonds and liquid cash Marcus had accumulated to secure his coup.
But as Vincent reached for the lockbox, a red light on the security console began to blink rapidly.
"It's a trap," Elena said, her eyes widening.
The computer screen flickered to life, displaying a live video feed. Marcus was sitting in Vincent’s favorite leather armchair back at the mansion, a glass of scotch in his hand.
"Hello, Uncle," Marcus said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction through the computer speakers. "Did you really think I didn't foresee you coming for the cash? You always were predictable. You think in terms of territory and physical wealth. But the world has changed."
"You're a dead man, Marcus," Vincent said coldly to the camera.
"Am I?" Marcus laughed. "Look at the monitor to your left."
Vincent looked. The screen showed the old St. Jude’s orphanage. A hit squad was currently tossing thermite grenades into the basement where Vincent and Elena had been hiding just hours ago. The entire structure exploded into a fireball.
"I know about your little maid friend, too," Marcus added, his face darkening. "Elena Rostova. Did you really think I didn't do a background check on the staff? I let her stay because I knew her hatred for you would make her the perfect wildcard to distract you when the time came. Now, both of you are trapped in a facility rigged with explosives. Goodbye, Uncle."
The monitor began a sixty-second countdown.
"Window!" Vincent roared.
May you like
Elena didn't hesitate. She fired a full magazine into the reinforced glass window, shattering it just as the first explosion tore through the lower floor of the office. They threw themselves out into the night air, falling fifteen feet onto the bed of a moving garbage truck that Elena had strategically timed to pass beneath the building.
Behind them, the shipyard office erupted into a spectacular wall of flame, lighting up the harbor like a demonic sunrise.
